


Mead and Mistletoe

by Kinda_Kozy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Assault, Christmas Party, Drunk Hermione Granger, F/M, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Mclaggen is a creep, Non-Consensual Touching, POV Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29350758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinda_Kozy/pseuds/Kinda_Kozy
Summary: Missing moment Hermione's livid internal monologue while at Slughorn's Christmas party.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Cormac McLaggen, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Lavender Brown & Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood & Harry Potter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Mead and Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Written for The Y6 Houses Competition - Round 2 - Fortune Favors The Bold  
> House: Ravenclaw  
> Subject: History of Magic

I, Hermione Granger, do not enjoy admitting I have made a mistake…

Swigging down the last gulp of my third mead in the past 45 minutes, I can comfortably confirm that going to this party with Cormac McLaggen was _A HUGE MISTAKE!!_

Sure, I _thought_ I knew the risks. I practically had to confund myself to approach Cormac in the first place.

 _Just invite him,_ I told myself. _Ron hates him…perhaps he’s not as vile as he came off at the Quidditch try-outs...Ron hates him…what’s the worst that could happen?_

“But my favorite, and I mean my favorite maneuver of all time is—”

This. 

This is the worst that could happen.

_This is all Ron’s fault…_

I can’t even attempt to mask my glower as I greedily trade my empty goblet for another full one.

I don’t know what got into him. He agreed to come with me to this God-forsaken party, after all.

Sure I fumbled the delivery; angrily wrestling a Snargaluff stump with Harry loitering in the background was not what I had been hoping to pair the question with...when I ran my planned scenario in my mind I imagined sitting on the couch in the common room, in front of the fireplace...alone. And we would do that thing we do where we’ve started the evening sitting on opposite ends of the same couch but we inch closer and closer to each other. It takes hours, but the moment I sink into the crook of his arm while we’re pretending to focus on charms homework is the best feeling there ever was. And well, that is when I would have asked him...Fantasies aside, I got it out, didn’t I? And he was pleased, too!

Or at least, I thought he was. Still, it was progress compared to the last time I wanted Ron to escort me to a party. 

In fourth year, I had the tremendous luck of turning Viktor’s head. I suppose I was also foolish to think I’d strike gold twice with Cormac as a stand-in date. Viktor had been so courteous, and almost meek due to his self-conscious grasp of English. In retrospect, he is a far better penpal; not that I have written to him since before last summer. Perhaps, I ought to draft a Christmas card? Don’t want to be rude.

“You alright there, ‘Mione?” Cormac’s face is suddenly eye level and entirely too close to my face.

I stifle a gasp as I lean away from the firewhiskey on his breath, and his unibrow. ‘Mione? Who does he think he is?

“Hmm?” I attempted to perk up to show that I was listening, I did not realize how far my frown had dropped until I had to correct it.

“You look a bit peeky,” He cocks an eyebrow and glances down to the goblet of mead in my hand. 

“Peak’ed,” I pronounce, a bit more terse than necessary. It is the first remark he has made singularly about me all night. I am unable to resist correcting his vocabulary.

“No... I don’t think so…” He says as his absently scratches at some dandruff out from behind his ear. At this moment, I hate him **so much**.

I swallow my rage, but also more mead, and shakily deflect, “I’m fine,” with the voice of a squeak toy. Cormac pays no mind as he launches back into his narrative.

More Quidditch.

He probably thinks I have some sway over Harry to boot Ron off the team so he can be Keeper. I’d never do that; yes, it would destroy Ron, but it isn’t worth the collateral damage of sticking Ginny, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team with this scourge of a person.

Which reminds me, Harry should be here by now. I hope I don’t appear shifty, or deranged as I search the room—again—for Harry’s face or one of Luna’s bright outfits.

Merlin, it’s been nearly an hour, he should be here! Had I known he was going to ditch it anyways, I’d have skipped the whole affair from the start. This is my penance for enjoying some attention from a professor, is it? Then again, I suppose Slughorn had grown tired of my “Cleverest Witch of Her Age” routine. He wants to know who you know...and I know Harry. I could be dim as, well, Cormac, and still be impressive to the man. 

This is so embarrassing, and worst of all I am sure Ron is too distracted by Lavender to even care. 

Gods, how did I convince myself into this torture all for _him?!_ Am I even allowed to be a feminist, anymore? Surely, I should expect an owl to send word that I have been disqualified with this atrocious behaviour.

Oh dear, Cormac’s eating now...that poor spinach puff. _Stop staring!_ Now, that is atrocious behavior. _Stop staring at his mouth. He’ll think you will want a **kiss!**_

I retch quietly in the back of my mouth and the nausea breaks my momentary vigil for the spanakopita that never stood a chance. I wash down the embarrassment with more mead.  
I nod along to his gnashing words, fixing my eyes to the bottom of my mead, calculating how best to ration the rest of my drink.

I haven’t had this much to drink since this last summer, when mum insisted on a girls’ night. We both had the entire run time of Sense & Sensibility to polish off those bottles of Merlot. I really ought to “stay frosty,” as my father insists; I’ll need my wits about me to figure out an exit strategy, especially if Harry doesn’t manage to make an entrance.

“...and y’know someone less skilled would have gone arse over elbows off their handle, but heh, even at 12, I knew my Manacle Maneuvers,” Cormac puffed his chest in self praise. On the other hand, I had winged this night so far, best to finish this the way it started.

With a silent toast to bad choices, I down the rest of the drink. I curl my lips in, savoring the taste as the room ever so slightly pulses. At least the mead is quite good…

“Hermione?” I flash my eyes back to Cormac. I blink about a dozen times to focus on him. I am sure he’s got something absolutely fascinating to teach me about his favorite sport.

“Just guess how many ways you can hold a beater’s bat?”

I suddenly have a pang of appreciation for divinations. Perhaps the prophecies just need a bit of lubrication; no wonder Trelawney is always about with her sherry bottle.

“I dunno,” I heave a sigh, “A dozen?”

McLaggen guffaws, “It brings me absolute joy to say this. You’re wrong. You see, most people limit themselves to an upright position, but nobody thinks about inverting the ba--!” 

“You know, Cormac. The room is getting a bit stuffy, actually,” I announce before he is able to launch into a diatribe about what an **expert beater** he is—Ron would have something filthy and fitting to make of that. For a moment, I wish I could go and tell Ron about it. Then, I remember that I’ll probably never speak properly to Ron, ever again. I feel my lower lip wobble slightly, but I manage to use it as momentum into my next statement. “Perhaps, I ought to have a walk about.” 

“Yeah,” McLaggen’s mouth pricks up at the corner. “Yeah, me too.” Before I can protest his company, he swings one of his tree branch arms behind me and presses a hand on the small of my back, steering me away from the crowd. “I know where we can go.” he says coyly, redirecting us towards the corner of the party. The mead inside me sloshes uncomfortably as I trip under his push. 

We are now even further from the entrance of the party room. I hold back a whimper as I consider my options. Cormac has managed to grab two flutes of champagne; in a daze I accept one, but do not drink. My cold thoughts do not keep me as “frosty” as I had hoped. Sorry, Dad. Instead, I admire the bubbles glittering in the glass, through them I can almost see the night that should have been. 

I would have entered this lavish party on Ron’s arm; I was really looking forward to seeing those new dress robes on him. Together, we would have given Harry moral support as he braved a crowd gawking at “The Chosen One”. Then perhaps, after agreeing what twaddle the whole affair was, we might have retreated to a corner like this one. Better yet, we could have left the party entirely, and settled into our couch in the common room. No homework this time to hide behind, and no pretense to start the dance at opposite ends of the sofa. Maybe, then, we would have just been together.

Through the refraction of the champagne flute, my actual escort watches me with the smile of an apex predator. Once again, reality rears its ugly unibrow and I remember that Ron has come to some epiphany that he should be with somebody more his speed. I suppose I should do the same. However, I always fancied myself as a lion; Cormac strikes me as some species of Blast-ended Skrewt.

“I-erm...I learned about champagne on a trip to France, a couple of years ago.” I say; a defeated attempt to mask my visit to an alternative present, “Have--erm, you traveled much, Cormac?”

“Not much outside Britain,” The band begins playing louder, so McLaggen takes a step towards me to speak.

I nod in understanding, I have already attempted to change the subject 7 times in the course of the evening, I half expected him to round back to Qui— ”But I did get to go to Dartmoor to watch the ‘94 Quidditch World Cup!”

Cormac certainly makes clairvoyance mundane. In self-congratulations, I sip the champagne against my better judgement. I hiccup, “Me too.”

“Yeah?” His wolfish smile spreads slowly, “Viktor Krum was something else that year...”  
Oh, no. I quite literally stumble into this new and awkward topic. I limp a step back away from him.

“Of course,” Cormac takes a stride to fill the space between us. His large frame isolates me from the view of the party. “I’m sure he was something else to you entirely that year.”

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, _no._

“Care to see how I compare?” Cormac slurs sensuously, “player to player?” His hand reaches and pets the length of my waist. I squirm at his touch but he's placed his other arm against the wall behind me, fencing me in.

“What are you talking about?” I clutch my champagne to my chest for protection, my body curling into itself and away from his touch.

“I heard a rumor you like kissing Quidditch players,” He says in a throaty whisper; he massages my ribcage.

“What?!”

“Apparently, Ginny Weasley’s been shouting through the whole castle about Krum being your little love monkey-”

 _Ginny?!_ What is Ginny doing shouting ANY of my personal business about in any part of the castle?! 

“-Just figured it a pleasant coincidence. But, then, according to your roommates, Parvati and Lavender, you were so excited to be seen with me.” His hand rove down the leg of my dress robes, and the material drags up against my body as he moves it back up to my hip. I am paralyzed, “Well, now I see the connection.”

“But I never meant..”

“No need to play hard to get, anymore,” he scoffs. I try to push past him, but he pushes off the wall and latches his hand onto my arm, pinning it to my side, “We can keep this between you, me and the mistletoe.” He flicked his eyes up towards what I assumed was Holly decking the halls. He makes me feel slimy.

“Cormac,” I say, fuming, but still too proud to make a scene. “This is really inappropriate. I can see how you might jump to conclusions—” I break from his embrace by wedging my elbow inside his arm and pry his hand away from my hip, “But really, we are barely on a first name basis.”

“Well.” He takes another step in towards me; his towering body presses mine into the tapestry on the wall. I feel my hair falling out of its bun as I brush my head against the wall to reject his advance. McLaggen takes this as an invitation to lean in closer to smell my neck. He pinches me at the elbow to squeeze me into submission as he speaks what he must consider a clever sweet nothing in my ear, “I figure we can get on a _first-base_ basis.”

I wish I could say I threw him off of me with a swish of my wand and sent him flying into the hor d'oeuvres table. I wish I could say that I made snappy remarks about respect and personal space. I wish I could say I slapped him in his stupid dimpled, _spinach munching_ face.

But I do not do any of that.

Instead, I make a rather undignified gasp, and unceremoniously upend the rest of my champagne flute, spilling the contents down the front of both our robes. 

I follow this by tossing my flute to the ground, where it shatters loud enough for some of the other party guests to take notice. Distracted and loosening his grip, Cormac does not stop me from stepping away from him. I bound over the broken glass and squeeze through the smallest gap between party goers I can find; Cormac’s slow, hulking body will not permit him to follow.  
Finally, I take my wand from the concealed pocket at my hip. I hastily siphon out the stain in my robes. 

I squeeze my way between more guests hoping to find the room’s exit. My hair falls entirely out of the styled bun it began the night in. It gets caught between bodies as the party shifts around me. With pain, I yank to free my hair from between a couple of witches’. Suddenly there is a hand on my shoulder. I grip my wand tightly.

“Hermione! Hermione.” 

“Harry!” I turn and nearly attack Harry with a grateful hug but I maintain enough self control only to burst out, “There you are, thank goodness!” Luna blinks at me over his shoulder. Seeing her sobers me in many ways. I don’t normally have the patience to be a good friend to her, but Luna has very graciously witnessed my personal life implode all day long. “...Hi Luna.”

I straighten my robes, as they too have been pulled askew in my dash through the crowd.

“What’s happened to you?” Harry asked, horrified.

“Oh,” Or maybe I’m just horrified to tell him. “I just escaped--I mean, I’ve just left Cormac...under the mistletoe.”

**Author's Note:**

> PS Disclaimer: Though this fic depicts Hermione in a really gross situation, this is by no means attempts to justify what happens to her. She did not "Have this coming", nor does any person that finds themselves in unsafe circumstances. That said stay safe, stay chill, and for the love of Merlin don't be a McLaggen!


End file.
